


Final Breath

by Es_Aitch



Series: AU Stories for the Twelfth Doctor [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode AU: s08e01 Deep Breath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 15:44:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16043519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Es_Aitch/pseuds/Es_Aitch
Summary: Personally, I thought it was a major deus ex machina to have the Eleventh Doctor call Clara.  So, what if Clara had left at the end of "Deep Breath" as she had said?  Also, fixing continuity errors that still drive me nuts four years later…





	Final Breath

The Doctor stared down at the half-faced man impaled at the top of Big Ben.  Knowing his friends in the ship below were safe, he walked over to the controls and piloted the escape capsule to a safe landing.   He was walking distance to Vastra's house and he knew he would get there before anyone else arrived.  He had some thinking to do.

He entered the TARDIS and looked around.  There was something off-putting about the green hue to him now and it didn't feel very homey.  This was his home and he spent most of his time in the console room, it was time to make the space reflect that.  He walked over to the controls, set the coordinates for a safe place for the TARDIS to reside while she redecorated with the new programming.  Information provided to her, the Doctor went to his room.  He didn't know if he'd sleep or not, but he needed to think.

His bedroom was the one room on the ship that rarely changed.  It was like the very heart of himself which didn’t change no matter the body or personality he wore.  The room had become more plain and simply functional over the years.  It wasn’t a place to escape, he had his entire TARDIS for that.  It was for sleeping, dressing, and showering.  There wasn’t much décor because he didn’t spend enough time in there to require such luxuries.

He changed out of the stolen suit and gave it to the TARDIS to clean.  He liked it and figured even if he didn’t were this specific outfit ever again, he could probably wear different pieces of it.  Mix and match, that was usually how things went for him.  He showered quickly and once he was dried, he made his way to his bed.  He hadn’t slept in nearly twenty-four hours and he was still adjusting to the regeneration.  A nap would do him good.  Or at least reclining while he thought about things.

He wasn't entirely sure in the end if he had pushed the Control Node or if the half-face man had fallen.  He needed to figure out if it mattered or not.  He replayed those moments in his mind several times, but even with that reflection, he couldn’t figure out which way things had gone.  He took a breath and opened his eyes.

It didn’t matter.  Maybe it should.  But he didn’t know who he was or what was important to him yet.  So it didn’t matter.  He got up and made his way to the wardrobe.  It was time to figure out how he should dress in this body. 

In the wardrobe, there were photos of him in his previous incarnations.  He looked them over.  He appreciated the minimalistic appearance of his earliest selves.  He had even liked the suit he had on earlier today.  But, he didn’t care for the black and white.  That would be somehow over the top given how his most recent companions dressed.  He decided that if he went with dark blues, that might make it look more casual and less like he was dressed to go to the theatre.  He tried some casual looks and some dressy looks, but all of them felt too flashy.

His eyes came to rest on a blue wool Crombie coat.  At first, he thought it was too plain, but when he pulled it out, he saw a flash of red.  He started to smile.  This was right.  From there, it was easy to pick and choose a few options for shirts, trousers, and waist-coats.  He hung everything he thought he would wear with that coat onto a particular rack.  He knew the TARDIS would move the rack to his bedroom wardrobe when he was finished here.

Once he was dressed, he debated returning to the console room.  The TARDIS balked immediately, so instead he went to one of the parlours.  He never did finish that drink he had poured before he faced the half-faced man.  It was time.  He couldn’t believe he didn’t like alcohol in the last body.  He needed to enjoy this – take his time with it. 

He found some Scotch – how appropriate –  and poured some into a glass.  He looked around and there was a bookshelf.  He smiled.  The TARDIS understood, he needed to always be surrounded by books.  He hadn’t read a lot in the last body, something he planned to address this go.  He plucked out a random book that happened to be _Great Expectations_ by Dickens and sat down to read.

It didn’t take him long, maybe an hour because he intentionally read it slowly, to finish the book.  He had refilled his glass once in that time.  He put the book back on the shelf and downed the remaining bit of his Scotch.  He heard a bell chime.  He grinned.  The TARDIS was ready, and he could return to the console room.  He took his time.  He rushed around too much the last go.  He wasn’t sure if he had been running away from something or running towards something.  But this time, he could be purposeful and take his time with things.

When he entered the room, he took a breath.  It was...nearly perfect for him.  It was missing something, he couldn’t think of what.  But, it was good enough.  Plenty of books, a reading chair, desks, a miniature workshop area down below, and the orange hue of the central column was far more comforting than the green.  It felt less like a ship and more like his home.  It was right. 

But he had pressing matters.  He had to return to Clara.  She hadn’t quite accepted him and he wasn’t sure what to do about that.  So many companions had struggled with regeneration over the years, but he thought since Clara had been in his time-stream, she would understand.  Clearly, he had misjudged her.  At the very least, though, he owed her a trip home.  He set the coordinates with the automatic materialisation process and then went to sit in his chair to wait for her.

He couldn’t help but smile a little as he heard her running towards the TARDIS.  She had clearly calmed herself before entering, though.  Her soft accent filled the room, but it wasn’t a sound of greeting or excitement.  It was a statement of fact.  “You’ve redecorated.”

“Yes.”  It was obvious, but he also figured she meant both the TARDIS and himself.  Which made her next words almost painful.

“I don’t like it.”

And there it was…  He had expected it, but it still hurt.  “I’m not entirely convinced myself.  I think there should be more round things on the walls.  I used to have lots of round things. I wonder where I put them?”

He watched her as she walked around the console.  She wasn’t looking at him.  She didn’t really accept that he was the Doctor.  Right, then.  Time to tell her who he was.  He stood slowly and made his way down the stairs.  He could see her hesitation, so he made sure to keep the console between them.  “I'm the Doctor. I've lived for over two thousand years, and not all of them were good. I've made many mistakes, and it's about time that I did something about that. Clara, I'm not your boyfriend.”

He had reached the dematerialisation lever and stopped walking.  She looked a little taken aback by his comment.  “I never thought you were.”

His mind flashed back to what for her was only a about 36 hours ago - even though for him had been hundreds of years, when she asked him to pretend to be her boyfriend for Christmas Dinner.  Pointing that out wasn’t worth it.  “I never said it was your mistake.”

It was his fault.  He should have never said yes to that request.  Her attitude towards him had changed substantially ever since he had agreed to it.  That was on him.  Boundaries.  He needed to learn to have them.  He was an alien and he needed to remember that humans would never really understand him.  Time to move on.  He set the TARDIS in motion and unbuttoned one of the coat buttons.  It was time to do what he did best: show off.  He flipped the jacket back, to show the red.  “What do you think?”

She looked him up and down, but said nothing.  He glanced down at his outfit and back at her, offering a small smile.  He couldn’t possibly tell her how much he needed someone’s approval right now.  She smirked but turned away, walking away from him to the other side of the console.  She was clearly debating something.  Instead of answering, she asked a question of her own.  “Who put that advert in the paper?”

He was ready for this question.  He had already figured it out, in part.  “Who gave you my number? A long time ago, remember? You were given the number of a computer helpline, and you ended up phoning the Tardis. Who gave you that number?”

The confusion was plain on Clara’s features.  “The woman. The woman in the shop.”

The Doctor nodded once and leaned forward on the console.  “Then there's a woman out there who's very keen that we stay together.”  Just then, the TARDIS materialised.  He had timed his phrasing perfectly.  “How do you feel on the subject?”

Clara watched as the very centre of the Central Column stopped moving up and down.  “Am I home?”

The Doctor looked towards the door.  This was it.  He knew it was coming, like his regeneration.  But like his regeneration, there was no way to really prepare for it.  He hid his discomfort with a small smile.  “If you want to be.”

Her face fell to something not sad, but had that hint of not wanting to hurt someone with the words you’re about to say, but knowing you’re going to hurt them.  “I'm sorry.”

The Doctor gave her a confused expression.  He knew it was coming to this, but he was still in denial.  Clara continued.  “I'm, I'm so, so sorry. But I don't think I know who you are any more.”

The Doctor’s features fell.  He looked towards the doors again, trying to mask the pain he felt.  She had been in his time-stream and didn’t know who he was?  That was worse than what any other companion had done when they had rejected him.  Even Ben and Polly accepted him fairly quickly.  Polly had accepted his second body before he had accepted it himself.  He pursed his lips, not really sure what to say.  Finally, he nodded.  “I… understand.”

She shook her head.  “You don’t.”

Why do humans insist on hurting him and then tell him he doesn’t understand being hurt.  “This isn’t the first time I’ve been through this.  The very first time, I didn’t believe it was still me myself.”

She hated that this was hurting him.  To soften the blow she offered them both an out.  “I…I think I just need time.”

“We have all the time in the universe right here.”

She smirked.  “Shut up.  I mean, I just need to be back in my own time for a bit.”

He gestured to the doors.  “You still have the rest of Christmas dinner.  Your dad, gran, and… Linda?”

“A few hours ago you thought everyone’s accent had gone wrong and you remember Linda?”

He shrugged.  “Well, she made an impression.”

Clara snorted but made no comment about the fact that he was the one who had been naked in front of all of them.  Saying it out loud would make it true and she would have to admit that maybe he was the Doctor.  She made her way to the doors, but paused before opening them.  “Will you be okay?”

“I’m always okay.”  It was the only answer he could give.  It was a lie.  He would have to start over this time and it was like it had been after the Time War: without a companion.

She turned to leave but before she could close the door, she heard him call to her.  “Clara?”

She stuck her head back in.  “Yeah?”

“The helpline isn’t just for computers you know.”

She nodded and with that, she pulled the doors closed behind her.

The Doctor dematerialised the TARDIS without setting any coordinates.  He simply thought to her: “ _Take me where I need to be._ ”


End file.
